Drenched in grey and metallic blue frames,
wise guys in beige trench coats and matte black hats
(and sometimes white gloves)
have unfinished business.
There’s a permeating code that runs deep,
book of bushido, code of omerta,
controlled by hierarchies of made men,
it is what it is,
faire bande a part.
Faith, doubt, humanity
and the tyranny of evil men
lured into inherent vice
elliptically cut with
flourishes of laconic restraint
and frenetic brawls
and bloodthirsty paranoia,